


Music and Lyrics

by starsalign



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music and Lyrics (2007) Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Musician Richie Tozier, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsalign/pseuds/starsalign
Summary: “Have you ever done any writing?”“I mean, yeah, everyone nowadays has done some writing.”“Well have you ever heard of ‘the Losers’? The band?”“Of course. Bev loved them. They were those two weirdos, and Lord, one of them could not dress to save his life, and—” He turned as he spoke, looking Richie in the eye. “Oh my God, you’re one of them.”“I’d like to say my outfit choices were very much in style.”“Wow, I am so sorry.”“It’s fine, cutie. But I would love to talk to you about writing some lyrics?”tldr; Richie is a washed up musician who needs to write a new song, but he can't write lyrics. Enter Eddie with surprising talent, yet resentment, for writing.music & lyrics au (heavily inspired by the movie)
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, so this is an au that's mostly self indulgent. hope you enjoy!

Richie stared down at the magazine cover that was in front of him. _Adrian Mellon._ “What am I supposed to be looking at Stan?” He brought his eyes up to his manager (and best friend).

“Adrian Mellon is the fastest growing pop singer today.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Adrian was a huge fan of the Losers and wants to meet you! Something about performing a song together.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed in front of a _real_ audience. Ever since Mike decided to take a step back from music to take care of his family's farm, officially disbanding the Losers, Richie had been stuck on the path towards becoming a has been. Five years later, and he’s 34, holding on to his stardom by a string, getting by with performances at theme parks, state fairs, hotels. He wasn’t complaining.

“He wants to meet you. Tonight.”

***

“Mr. Tozier, it’s a pleasure.”

Adrian Mellon stood before him in nothing but small, tight leather shorts. Sweat was glistening on his body, having just finished dance rehearsal. His eyes, rather his whole face, were covered in glitter, but he had a kind smile as he approached Richie and Stan.

“Your song ‘Dance with Me Tonight’ got me through my parents’ divorce, and I want my fans to have the same spiritual uplift your music gave me.”

Richie forced a grin, reminded of how long ago he recorded that song. “Great! I have some old tunes that can be updated—”

Adrian raised a hand, maintaining a very serious look. “I don’t live in the past, Mr. Tozier. I want you to write a new song.”

Richie turned to glare at Stan. “You see…”

“I recently broke up with my boyfriend. We had been together for almost two months! It was horrible. But then I read a book by Guru Mathashavi called _A Way Back into Love_. That will be the title of our new song.” Richie tried to comprehend the information being thrust at him. “In two weeks when my tour opens at Madison Square Garden, we will perform it together.”

“Here’s the thing,” Richie began, before Stan grabbed his arm, digging in his nails to shut him up.

“It will also go on my new CD that we are finishing up, so I’ll need the song by Friday.”

Richie’s head was spinning. Write a new song. In three days. There was no fucking way. “Ha ha,” he forced through a grimace, “No pressure, right?”

“We have other artists working on their own version of ‘Way Back into Love,’ so if you can’t deliver, we’re covered.” He sent Richie a warm smile. “Don’t look at this as a competition Mr. Tozier. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

***

Richie had been at the piano for at least three hours now. He slammed his head onto the keys gently, the sound of jumbled notes echoing throughout his apartment. In between hits, he tried to speak. “Stan—I—can’t—do—this.”

Stan sighed, looking sympathetically at Richie. “Look…” Before Stan could tell Richie what he was supposed to look at, the intercom from the front desk beeped, “Hey Rich, I have Eddie here for you.”

“Eddie?”

“He’s here to do your plants.”

“But Beverly does my plants.”

“He insists, says it’ll take five minutes tops.”

With a heavy sigh, Richie conceded. “I guess it can’t be helped, send him up.”

Stan had a blank stare on his face. “Why do you even have a plant person?” He spun around the room, noticing for the first time, the large amount of vegetation that was present in Richie’s apartment. “Why do you even have plants?”

“You see, Sandy once told me that plants make women comfortable.”

The incredulous look was glued to Stan’s face. “Plants make women… comfortable,” he repeated.

“Well, Staniel, maybe if I had plants, I wouldn’t be single.”

“Sure, that’s the problem.”

“Not Sandy’s affair, or my trashmouth, or my crumbling music career…”

“… But your lack of vegetation.”

Richie’s next thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Upon opening the door, Richie was met with a fairly short man with a very irritated look on his face. Before he could say a word, the man pushed himself into the apartment. “Hi, I’m Eddie. Kaspbrak.”

Richie let eyes run up and down the man who just forced his way into his home. He couldn’t have been taller than 5’7, and he wore a navy cable-knit sweater and khakis. While the sweater hung loose on his torso, showing hints of his collar bone, his pants hugged his legs tightly, showing off his toned legs. The brown curls atop his head looked soft, and Richie wanted to run his hands through it. Richie’s gaze stopped on the other man’s caramel brown eyes before realizing that Eddie was waiting for his response. “Richie Tozier.”

Eddie huffed, crossing his arms. “I’m assuming you didn’t get the message from Bev?”

“No, I haven’t listened—”

“She was supposed to let you know that I’d be doing the plants.”

“Well Eds, I’m not going to say this wasn’t a pleasant surprise. It’s not every day I let someone as cute as you into my home.”

“That’s not my name.” Richie began to speak but was interrupted again by the shorter man. “I hope you have your own watering can. You would think that a person with plants would have their own watering can, but you’d be surprised. This last guy, he was like 80, didn’t have his own, so he starts yelling at me in Italian.”

Eddie began walking around the apartment mindlessly as he spoke, grazing his fingertips against the couch, along the top of the piano. Stan turned to Richie with a raised eyebrow, and Richie just mouthed ‘I don’t fucking know,’ before returning his attention to Eddie, who was still talking. He thought to himself _, and they say I can’t shut up_.

“—Long story short, you have not been cursed at until you’ve been cursed at in Italian.”

“It must be your lucky day Eddie Spaghetti because I do, in fact, have a watering can. It’s in the kitchen under the sink.”

Eddie’s eyes momentarily narrowed, flinching at the nickname. “Grazie. But never call me that again.”

“Come on, it rhymes!” He pointed Eddie towards the kitchen and turned towards the other man in the room, who seemed to still be taking in the last few events. “See Stan! I know how to rhyme.”

“The lack of progress on the song, which needs to be finished by Friday, seems to say otherwise.”

Richie let out a long groan before stomping back to the piano, plopping down on the bench. He felt his fingers move against the keys naturally as he sang the one “verse” that he had mustered after a couple hours of work:

_Give it up, I’m a bad hot witch_

_I look real good, but I’m a nasty bitch_

_I can scream and claw, and curdle your blood_

_But you’ll die on your way back into love_

“That was awful, please, don’t let those words leave your mouth ever again.”

“I’m trying! I haven’t written a song in God knows how long, and I need a lyricist! It’s only ever worked with Mike.”

“Alright, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course not, you’re my manager, I’d have to fire you.”

“Well as your manager, and your friend, your _best_ friend, you need this.”

Richie felt his eyes drifting towards Eddie, who was currently drowning one of his favorite succulents. _God, why is he cute?_ He sighed, bringing his focus back to the conversation with Stan. “Let’s not be desperate. There’s still the state fairs, and Knott’s Berry Farm—”

“They cancelled.”

Richie frowned. “Knott’s Berry cancelled?”

“Look, we’re still on for the few state fairs we have lined up, but Great Adventure only wants three days instead of ten.”

“Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me these things?”

“I’m telling you now!”

Richie knotted his fingers in his hair, banging his head on the keys. “Oh God, I’m dead. I’m finished.”

Stan sighed deeply and placed a shoulder on Richie’s shoulder. “Rich, you are not dead.”

“I’m going to wind up doing bar mitzvahs!”

“I… am not going to take that personally. Come on, Rich, it’s one song. One song with Adrian to refresh your image, and then we’ll get Knott’s Berry, and Great Adventure, and who knows? We could even get Disneyland.”

“Don’t tease me, I’m very vulnerable right now.”

Stan stifled a laugh, as best as he could. “Alright fucker, let’s try this again.”

Richie returned his hand to the piano and played the same melody that he had been messing with. “Give it up, I’m a bad hot witch—”

“But with some magic, I just might switch.”

Richie’s head jerked towards the source of the words. Eddie was still drowning his plants, absentmindedly humming along to the melody he had just been playing.

“Sorry, Eds, what did you just say?”

Eddie paused, watering can tilted downward, and water rushing out of the spout. He had a confused look on his face, lower lip trapped between his teeth. “I don’t remember?”

“I think it was, ‘but with some magic, I just might switch.’ Fuck Eds, that’s actually amazing.”

“Why don’t we just let plant boy finish the lyrics?”

“Stan!”

Eddie moved on to the next plant a bit awkwardly. “I’m just here to cater the plants… I can’t write a song.”

“And you are doing a fine job.” Richie walked up behind Eddie and pulled him away from the plant. He didn’t miss the blush that spread across Eddie’s cheeks. “But this one is plastic.”

Eddie’s face flushed fully red. “Please, just try?”

Hesitantly, Eddie pursed his lips in thought. “Okay… uh… let’s fly my broom to the stars above, and we’ll… charm! Charm our way back into love.”

Stan’s eyes flickered between Eddie and Richie, evidently appalled. “Sorry!” Eddie exclaimed. Words began rushing out of this mouth. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved, sometimes I have no filter.” He turned, trying to distract himself with a nearby cactus.

“Have you ever done any writing?”

“I mean, yeah, everyone nowadays has done some writing.”

“I don’t know Eds, illiteracy is a growing epidemic. But that was some real good shit right there.”

“Uh, I write campaign slogans for Bev’s fitness company, but that’s it!”

“Well have you ever heard of ‘the Losers’? The band?”

“Of course. Bev loved them. They were those two weirdos, and Lord, one of them could _not_ dress to save his life, and—” He turned as he spoke, looking Richie in the eye. “Oh my God, you’re one of them.”

“I’d like to say my outfit choices were very much in style.” Stan snorted, but kept his mouth shut.

“Wow, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine, cutie. But I would love to talk to you about writing some lyrics?”

“Cutie? Whatever. No, I don’t write lyrics, and— oh my God! Holy fuck.”

“Shit, are you alright?”

Eddie jumped away from the cactus and began flapping his hand and jumping up and down. “Fuck, do you have a bandaid? Antibiotic cream?”

Richie just stared, questioning his attraction towards Eddie. “No…”

“Well, then I’m gonna go because this might get infected. It’s not clotting yet, but I mean, you can never be to careful. And I have to meet Bev for dinner anyways, and I think I’m going to get this looked at.”

As Eddie sped walk to the door, Richie grabbed his wrist, halting him. “Hey, I’ll be performing at the Hilton tonight. Reconsider the song writing, or just come anyways if you want a laugh.”

Eddie looked up to him, eyebrows scrunched together in frustration. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. I really appreciate the offer, but I don’t write… I can’t.” Eddie swung open the door, and hurried out. Before the door slammed, he shouted from down the hallway, “You should really get a first aid kit by the way!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not the best writer tbh but i really wanted this au to exist, so thanks to everyone who read! apologizing in advance that things are kinda dialogue heavy and that these chapters are kinda short (i just end them when it seems like a good stopping point) and if it's a bit ooc

Eddie stood outside Bev’s apartment, still chastising himself. _God, why couldn’t he keep his fucking mouth shut._ He let his mind drift to the concept of actually writing again, but quickly shoved that thought to the back of his mind where it belonged. With a sigh, he raised his arm to bang on the door.

It swung open, and he was greeted by Bev’s bright smile. “Come on in! Ben’s still getting ready.”

Bev began raving about the restaurant they were supposed to go to tonight, but Eddie wasn’t listening. He couldn’t take his mind off a certain song writer… Nope. _It’s just the idea of writing again, not his dark curls, or goofy smile, or awful sense of humor._ Bev continued to ramble, something about diet cheesecake? He felt sick. “So this thing happened to me today… I don’t know. I’m just gonna head home, if that’s alright.”

Bev cocked her head, shooting Eddie a confused look. “You seem… jumpy tonight.”

Eddie groaned. “You know, I just feel a little guilty, well guilty isn’t the right word, I just feel bad? Or anxious, anxious seems a bit better.”

“How unusual of you,” Bev retorted, the corner of her mouth upturning in a smirk.

“Oh, shut up.” Eddie paused, unsure of what to say. “Listen, I have to tell you. I met that guy from that band that you used to like, Richie Tozier from the Losers?”

“Oh my God.” Bev just stared at him, wide eyed.

“Anyway, you know how I’ve been helping you with your plant service? Well, I went to his apartment on my way home from work, instead of during your normal time and—”

“Hold the fuck up!” Bev interrupted harshly. “You mean to tell me, I’ve been watering Richie fucking Tozier’s plants for months now?”

“You didn’t know?”

Bev had a wild look on her face. “He’s never been home when I’ve gone! I knew his name was Richard, but I never thought…”

“Well…” Eddie started, hesitantly. “He invited me to come see him perform tonight.”

Eyes still trained on Eddie, Bev abruptly shouted, startling him, “Ben, I’m going out!”

Ben came stumbling out of the bedroom, tripping on his own feet and buttoning up his shirt. “Aren’t we all?”

Bev grabbed Eddie’s wrist, dragging him towards the room. She passed by Ben, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “Nope, sorry babe. Priorities.”

Eddie stumbled after Bev and stumbled over his words, “Uh… That really wasn’t the end of the story.”

“Come on, help me dress!”

***

Eddie found himself in the largest ballroom of Time Square Hilton, wondering what he had done to deserve this. Apparently, Richie was performing for some sort of organization reunion? He didn’t question it. The show had already begun by the time they got there, and Bev immediately rushed through the crowd of screaming women, trying to get as close to the front as possible. Eddie chose to hang near one of the exits, raising an eyebrow as a new song begun.

_“I saw you across the dancefloor,_

_Out of the corner of my eye_

_I felt a connection,_

_I don’t know how, I don’t know why.”_

Eddie couldn’t help but smile, choking back a laugh as Richie did some _God-awful_ dance moves. He spun around, followed by alternating forward thrusts. There was no possible reality where Eddie found _this_ attractive, _definitely not._

Eddie let gaze his follow Richie as he galivanted around the stage, stopping every so often reach a hand down towards the audience. Richie glanced up and locked eyes with Eddie. He felt his face flush. For a brief second, a look of confusion glazed over Richie’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a wink. If it was possible, Eddie thought his faced flushed even more.

Finally, the performance came to an end, and Richie walked off the stage, headed directly toward Eddie, ignoring the shouts of “Richie!” Eddie turned away, unsure of why he suddenly felt so nervous.

Richie had a wide grin plastered on his face, “Hey Eddie Spaghetti, enjoy the show?”

“Yeah, not so bad for a has-been.” _Why did he say that?_

Richie clutched his chest, feigning hurt, “God Eds, way to kick a guy when he’s down.”

Eddie felt the twinge of smile, trying his best to suppress it. “You call this,” gesturing to Richie and the entire room, “down?” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, there’s something about a song that needs writing? Happen to know of anyone who can help?”

Before Eddie could reply, Richie was joined by his manager, Stan?

“Stanthony! Killer performance ay? And hey, you remember Eddie?”

Stan maintained his neutral expression, giving Eddie a one over. “Planted in my memory.”

Eddie was still trying to find words when Bev ran up, jabbing her elbow sharply into his ribs. “Oh, this is Beverly, she’s the one who normally does your plants.”

Bev had a sheepish look on her face. Eddie could not remember a single instance where Bev looked like that. “Hi, I’ve— You were so great tonight!”

“We’ve met, haven’t we? You were right up at the front? We were practically a duet there.” Richie’s eyes kept fluttering back to Eddie as he addressed Beverly.

“Could I maybe get an autograph, and a picture too?”

Richie laughed. It was harsh and loud, and Eddie didn’t understand why it sounded like music to his ears. “Only if you’re single.”

Bev shoved her phone into Eddie’s hands, camera already open. “I’ve been married for a year, but nothing’s written in stone.” Bev wrapped her arms around Richie’s waist, bearing a grin so wide it looked painful.

Still holding the phone, Eddie’s brain decided that now was the best time to address Richie’s question. “I really wanted to thank you for your offer.”

Bev’s face contorted in shock, “What offer?”

“Eds here happened to be in my apartment while I was being an utter rhyming psychopath, and he sprouted some interesting lyrics.”

“I thought he was doing plants.” Bev said firmly. She knew about Eddie’s… writing history, and her protective side began to show. Her grip remained firm around Richie, “Regardless, I’m holding a pose here.”

Richie turned his attention back to Eddie, “I really need a song by Friday.”

Eddie pursed his lips. “Why don’t you write the lyrics yourself?”

Stan deadpanned, “Not really a strong suit of his.”

Richie continued, “He is very right. I once tried to rhyme ‘you and me,’ with ‘autopsy.’”

Pausing to think for a second, Eddie responded, “That’s actually not bad… You could do something with that, like um… ‘Figuring out you and me, is like doing a love autopsy.’”

Something lit up in Richie’s eyes. “You see! That’s incredible, Eds. Go on. More.”

“Uh, I have no idea.”

Beverly still was wrapped around Richie, “Someone could have sculpted us in this time.”

With a sigh, Stan wrenched the phone from Eddie, “You know what? I’ll just take it.”

Richie looked at Eddie expectantly, and the shorter man finally replied. “Uh, ‘They could operate all day long, and never figure out what went wrong.’”

Richie stared in awe, “my God, you are—”

“Well! Bev and I must go! Thanksfortheinvitebye.” The words rushed out of his mouth as Eddie grabbed Bev and hurriedly exited the premises.

***

Eddie watched the second hand tick on the clock on the wall. Time was moving impossibly slow, just 12 more minutes until he could close up shop for the day. Well 11 minutes and 57 seconds, 56, 55…

His thoughts were interrupted by the chime of bells, signaling the arrival of a customer. _Jesus, what kind of asshole decides to show up 10 minutes before we close._

“So this is where my Eddie Spaghetti works, eh?”

Eddie’s head jerked towards the familiar voice. “How did you even find this place?”

Richie sauntered over, occasionally grazing his hands over various products in the store. “Bev.”

_God damn it, Bev._

“Look, I’m sorry to barge in like this, but I’ve decided that I can’t take no for an answer.”

Eddie sighed, seven minutes until close. “I told you that—”

“Yes, you’re not a writer,” Richie interrupted, “Except when you’re writing poems and short stories for the Columbia literary magazine.”

Eddie paled. He had repressed all memories from his time at Columbia. “You’re probably one of six people in the world who’s actually read those, and I’m flattered, but that doesn’t mean I can write a song.”

Richie grinned, clearly not going to let this go. “You already have. Please, give me five minutes.”

Eddie’s attention returned to the clock. It couldn’t hurt to close a few minutes early, he supposed. He gave a slight nod toward Richie, and his face lit up.

The next thing he knew, Eddie found himself being dragged into a piano store down the block. Richie plopped down on the piano bench, cracking his knuckles. He glanced up at Eddie, “This is a little something that you might recognize,” before returning his attention to the piano. Richie pressed his fingers to the keys and began to sing.

_Figuring out you and me_

_Is like doing a love autopsy_

_They could operate all day long_

_And never figure out what went wrong_

Eddie felt awestruck. Did he really write that? “God, that melody is beautiful.”

“Eds, I think you just might be a born lyricist.” Before Eddie could get out a response, Richie continued, “We don’t have very long, and in an ideal world I would love to continue the autopsy song, but it would be too hard to get from there to ‘Way Back into Love,’ which is the title Adrian demands.”

Richie kept looking at him, baring his teeth in a grin. _Why is it so hard to say no to that face?_ Eddie let out a drawn-out sigh, “Fine.” _What was the worst that could happen?_

***

“So let’s see, a song for Adrian.” Eddie was splayed on the couch in Richie’s apartment, across the room from Richie, who was seated at the piano.

“Has to be called, ‘Way Back into Love,’” Eddie pondered.

“Correct, my dear Spaghetti.”

Eddie, lost in thought, didn’t even address the nickname. “And it has to be something Adrian would sing about.”

“Exactomondo.” Richie was clearly amused by Eddie’s musings.

“And it has to be something you would sing about.”

“Preferably, yes.”

Eddie cocked his head and locked eyes with the taller man. “What _would_ you sing about?”

Richie chuckled, lifting his hand bashfully to the back of his head, ruffling his curls. “Whatever gets me the job, really.”

“How inspiring,” Eddie deadpanned. “Okay. Two people, searching for love.”

“Yes, love that.”

“Love lost. Love found… Love lost again.”

“This is starting to sound a little bit like luggage, but good.”

“Beep beep asshole,” Eddie retorted. “That’s helpful.”

Richie choked out a laugh, “Did you just, car horn me?”

Eddie chose to ignore him, clicking his pen.

After about a minute, Richie sighed, “It doesn’t have to be perfect. They’re just lyrics.”

Eddie turned to shoot Richie a glare, narrowing his eyes. “Just lyrics?”

“Lyrics are important,” Richie started, “They’re just not as important as the melody.”

Eddie groaned, “I really don’t think you get it,” the offense evident is his tone.

Richie just smirked. “Oh, you’re angry, this is really doing it for me. Click your pen.”

“A melody is like seeing someone for the first time,” Eddie said sharply. “The physical attraction. Sex.”

“Implying something Eds? I’m sorry, but my heart already belongs to Mrs. K.”

Refusing to address any part of Richie’s comment, Eddie continued, “But then, getting to know the person, like really getting to know someone— that’s the lyrics. Their story, who they are underneath the façade that they show the world.”

Richie stood up sharply, the bench squeaking as it slid against the hardwood. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Eddie was startled, “A walk? What, now?”

Richie looked at him like it was a given, “Out on the streets you see things, and I don’t fucking know, hear things. A change in scenery.”

***

While they walked, they about nothing, yet it felt like everything. “So why did the Losers break up? I mean, Bev told me that you guys were friends growing up?”

“Yeah, me and Mikey were thick as thieves, Stanny too, of course.” Richie smiled fondly as he spoke of his friends. “We grew up in some shitty town in Maine. Mike lived on a farm with his grandparents, and when they passed, he chose to give up a life of music and take care of the farm.”

“No shit, I also grew up in Maine. Ever heard of Derry?” Eddie wondered out loud. “Bev and I moved to New York for college, and then she met Ben, and now there’s the fitness store.”

“Huh, small world. I’m from Portland, so yeah, I know of Derry.” After a pause, Richie continued, “I, personally, couldn’t imagine returning to that shithole. I can’t blame Mikey though, even if I will never understand.”

Eddie could relate. He spent his whole childhood dreaming of bigger things. “So how did you deal with that? I mean, Mike leaving.”

Richie shook his head, sighing. “Oh, with drugs, alcohol, meaningless sex… and eventually my own solo album.”

Eddie was appalled by the rawness from Richie, who seemed to only speak in jokes. “Cool, I guess. The album.”

Richie let out another deep sigh. “You know that music store by my apartment? There’s one last copy of my album that has been there for six fucking years.”

“Come on, it can’t have been there that long.”

“Nope, I go back every week Eds. No one wants to buy my shit album. It sold only 50,000 copies, most of them probably to your mom.”

Eddie snorted, “My mom’s dead asshole,” but there was no heat behind his words.

“Shit,” Richie stated, face slightly flushed, “Sorry, man.”

“Nah, it’s alright. We weren’t… close. But back to your album…”

“Rolling Stones called it ‘a crass contrived effort, not even good enough for a dentist chair.’ That parts true, by the way, my dad’s a dentist.”

Eddie felt sympathy creeping on his face, “I’m sure there were… other reviews.”

Richie let out a humorless chuckle, “None as good as that one. They were right though. After that I gave up trying to write.”

Eddie felt the taller man’s arm graze his and looked up, expectantly. Richie hadn’t seemed to notice, casually brushing his shoulder against Eddie as they walked. Eddie found himself enjoying the contact.

“Stan stuck by me, of course he did. As much as that motherfucker gives me shit, I know he loves me. He booked me a ‘reunion’ tour, and it was nice to see that I still had some sort of an audience. Since then, it’s been cruises, state fairs, Knott’s Berry Farm.”

They crossed a street and Eddie pulled them out of the way. He grasped Richie’s hand, shocking him, and gave a warm smile. “I really appreciate you opening up to me like this. I know what it’s like to live with a shadow overhead.”

In that moment, Eddie felt something. Looking up at Richie, feeling his hand in his. It felt right, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way about someone.

Richie pulled Eddie from his thoughts, “What did you just say?”

“Shadow?”

“Yeah… that actually sounds…” Richie began to sing the brief melody that he had come up with, “I’ve been living with a shadow overhead.”

“Wow.” Eddie would never get tired of listening to Richie’s voice. That was something he would _never_ admit out loud. “That’s a nice melody.”

“What would you know? You don’t even _like_ melodies,” Richie retorted, voice laced with amusement.

“I never said that asshole.”

“But you prefer the lyrics! Okay okay, what’s next, we’re on a roll.” Richie gestured with his eyes to the notepad that was still clutched in Eddie’s grasp. In his conversations with Richie, he had nearly forgotten what they were trying to do.

Eddie felt his stomach grumble as Richie repeated the line. He thought, and sang along to the short melody, “There’ll be no more rhymes until I’m fed.”

“Please! Eds, seriously!”

Eddie smirked, singing again, “I could be inspired with a piece of bread.”

Throwing his head back in a cackle, Richie gave in, “Fine, fine! I know a place just around the corner. Keep moving and keep writing Spaghetti!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> music & lyrics soundtrack if you want to listen along
> 
> also pls tell me that someone noticed the plant puns


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post this tmr but i didn't feel like waiting anymore  
> i realized too late that i didn't want to write in past tense but i guess hindsight is 2020 and i don't want to change it

“I’ve been looking for someone to shed some light.”

Richie suppressed his desire to stare at Eddie in awe. “Wow, just wow. I fucking love it.”

Eddie looked at him with genuine disbelief, the corner of his lips turning up. “Yeah?”

 _Fuck._ “Cute, cute, cute! God Eds, shadow and light. How deep.”

Eddie hummed with content. “Don’t call me that.”

Richie was buzzing with anticipation. He was experiencing the euphoric feeling of composing that had drawn him to music in the first place. He was still trying to convince himself that this was real, that he was _actually_ going to write a song for the first time in years, in three fucking days! “Okay, we need two more lines and then we’ll have a verse. What’s next, Spa—?”

Eddie yelped. He fucking _yelped_ , jumping back and clutching the notepad to his chest.

“Eds?”

No response.

“Eddie?”

Looking shaken, Eddie finally looked Richie in the eye, “Yeah Rich?”

Richie stared back in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” It was clearly not nothing. “I thought I saw someone, but it wasn’t him. So it’s all good.”

Richie couldn’t find the words, so he just continued walking, looking in his periphery to make sure Eddie was following.

He was, sort of. “Oh, there he is.”

Richie abruptly turned to find Eddie staring through the glass window… of a bookstore? “What?”

All the color had drained from Eddie’s face. He lifted a hand slowly and pointed at something in the window display of the store. Richie’s eyes traced Eddie’s arm, stopping at what Eddie was referring to. “Well Eds, it’s a book. They tend to have those in bookstores.”

Eddie shook his head and sighed. “Never mind. Fuck, where were we? Shadow overhead?”

“Okay,” Richie started slowly, “With all due respect, you are clearly… what’s the word… insane at this moment.” Eddie glared. “And according to Stan the man, we have less than 36 hours until Adrian needs this song, at which point my career is over. It would be infinitely better for me if you were sane. So how can I help?”

Eddie chewed on his lower lip. Hesitantly, he asked, “Do you know this book?”

Richie took another glance at the book of interest. “Evelyn Kates? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Big bestseller.”

Eddie was stone-faced, his eyes glued to the book. Particularly to the image of the author on the cover. _William Denbrough._ “Have you… read it?” he asked, cautiously. 

It took everything in Richie not to laugh. This was serious. “Of course not. Does it look like I’m the kind of person who fucking reads?” Eddie didn’t reply, so Richie pushed, “Why?”

Eddie’s eyes squinted shut. It looked almost painful for him to speak his next words, “I’m Evelyn Kates.”

 _Huh. That’s not what he was expecting._ Richie really tried to find something to say, but he was at a loss.

With a shaky voice, Eddie continued, gesturing to the novel. “I was a creative writing major at Columbia, and for one of my classes, my professor was Bill Denbrough.”

Richie remained confused, raising an eyebrow, but letting Eddie continue. “He was brilliant. Handsome. In all honesty, I was kinda in love with him.”

There was a tightening in Richie’s chest that he forced himself to ignore, suppressing his urge to interrupt and interrogate Eddie... about this man... that he was in _love_ with. “We began spending every minute together. Which was why I was surprised when his fiancée showed up.”

Eddie’s eyes, brimming with tears, raised to meet Richie’s. “Yeah, he never mentioned that he was engaged to an actress… who was filming in Ireland. And when she popped in for an unexpected visit, well… shit got pretty nasty.”

Richie finally spoke, “And that… that was that?”

Burying his face in his palms, Eddie replied, “Yeah. I dropped the class, switched my major to business, and we never saw each other again. A year later, his new novel showed up.”

Eddie was a fireball who ran his mouth and _always_ got what he wanted. And while he had only known the other man for less than a week, Richie had never seen him so… _broken_. “The Evelyn whatsit novel?”

Eddie’s face contorted in pain. “‘The tale of a student with exalted literary aspirations… who lures a brilliant writer into an affair so she can take advantage of his connections. But when he tried to break it off, she devotes herself to ruining his life.’”

Richie was appalled. “Well, fuck Eds. That’s obviously not you.”

“Well, she’s a writing major from Maine, 5’7, my hair color, all my habits, overbearing mother.”

Richie shot him a perplexed look, so Eddie went on. “You know, hypochondriac, overly anxious, can’t keep her fucking mouth shut.”

Before Richie could assure him that he was none of those things, that he was the most _brilliant_ person he had ever met, Eddie pushed on. “Well, anyway, I… Since then, every time I pick up a pen… I’m _haunted_ by those words that he wrote, you know? I spent all my life being berated by my mother for trying to be _me_ … and it was fucking awful to see it all on paper.”

Richie noticed the tears welling up in Eddie’s eyes, and he pulled the smaller man into a bone crushing hug. He said nothing and just held Eddie. “‘She was a brilliant mimic.’”

“‘She could’ve been Dorothy Parker or Emily Dickinson, but there was something about her that made her… sick. She was beyond saving.’” Richie cringed at that one.

“‘She was a vacant, empty imitation of a writer.’”

Pulling Eddie closer so that their bodies were molded together, Richie whispered softly, “You are none of those things. You… are perfect.”

Eddie yanked himself back abruptly, his eyes not meeting Richie’s. He pulled on his sleeve, drying his eyes. Richie grabbed the man’s shoulders and turned his body to face him. “Come on Eds, you can’t listen to some asshole!”

Eddie let out a humorless, choked laugh. “He’s not an asshole. He’s a National Book Award Winner.”

“Those two are not exclusive. Besides, you can get the best revenge, and write a killer hit song.”

“I doubt a pop song is gonna impress Bill Denbrough,” Eddie scoffed.

“You know what I’d say to Mr. Bill fucking Denbrough?” Richie asked, rather loudly. “You can take all the novels in the God damn world, and not one of them will make you feel as good, as fast as a quality song! Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan, Queen! That is real poetry, those are the real poets.”

“Okay,” Eddie pondered, “What if one of your heroes came up to you and said—” Richie had tilted his head to the side, a bit confused. “You know, uh, Bob Dylan, what if he walked up to you and said, ‘Richie Tozier, you are a horrible songwriter.’”

Richie closed his eyes in thought. He knew what Eddie was getting at; to be publicly berated by someone you admired, someone you cared about. Eddie didn’t deserve that jackass. After a moment, Richie finally said, “I would be horribly depressed.”

Eddie shot him a somewhat mocking look, as if to say _I told you so_ , but Richie continued. “But… after, you know, brooding for a few months,” Richie earned a quiet laugh from Eddie and smiled. He would never get tired of Eddie’s laugh. “I would… find a lyricist and write a song about how horribly fucking depressed I was.”

Eddie shoved him playfully, evidently trying to suppress the grin that was making an appearance. Richie pushed on, trying to draw more and more laughter out of the smaller man. “And it would be a big hit! Everyone would love me, and I’d make a fuck ton of money. And then suddenly, I’d be less depressed than if I just sat around, letting my misery eat away at me.”

Eyes dry, still slightly red from the tears, met Richie’s. They rolled as Eddie nudged his shoulder with his own. “Okay, asshole,” he declared, absent of any bite. “What now?”

Richie glanced around, becoming increasingly aware that they were still standing on a busy sidewalk. He slipped his hand into Eddie’s, announcing much too loudly, “Andalde Eduardo! Let’s get some food in you, we've got a song that’s not gonna write itself!”

***

“I’ve been living with a shadow overhead, I’ve been sleeping with a clown above my bed,” Richie sang before stopping abruptly. “Okay, ‘clown’ is definitely not right. What the fuck is this word?”

“It’s ‘cloud’ fuckface," Eddie snapped, “Can’t you read?”

“Write more clearly! It’s not my fault you write like a second grader. Now that I think about it, you kinda look like one too, Eds.”

Eddie walked across the room to the piano and snatched the notepad off the music stand. “Why the _fuck_ would you have a clown in your bed?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Richie smirked suggestively.

Eddie snorted, “I’m not surprised—”

“I could _never_ forget the time I spent with Mrs. K.”

“Fuck you, man!” Eddie exclaimed with a groan.

“You know, maybe try writing in capital letters.”

“Why don’t you fucking write it?”

“Fine.” Richie yanked the legal pad out of a fuming Eddie’s hands. “You dictate, I’ll write. _I_ can write like a human and not like a small Pekingese dog.”

Eddie let out a sharp noise, a mixture of a grunt and scream, startling Richie. He stomped back to the armchair he was previously sitting in and began to drag it across the room.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing! You’re destroying my apartment,” Richie shrieked.

Continuing to drag the chair towards the piano, Eddie retorted, “I can’t write from across the room.” A side table was obstructing his path, and Eddie aggressively shoved it to the side.

“Well, you’re not writing here, get back to your corner!”

Ignoring Richie’s complaints, Eddie brought the chair right next to the piano, placing his hands on his hips in satisfaction.

The piano, which was situated in the corner of the room, was now completely surrounded by two walls and Eddie’s chair. Frustrated, Richie exclaimed, “I can’t have you here, I’ll be blocked! I’m completely stuck.”

Eddie glared and let out a loud sigh before pushing the piano and turning it, such that piano bench was now on the other side. Richie took notice to the muscles that rippled in Eddie’s arms as he pushed the piano and tried his best not to stare at Eddie’s ass as he continued to shove around the furniture in his apartment. _Fuck me,_ he thought.

When Eddie seemed content with the room’s new arrangement, Richie plopped onto the bench, really taking in his surroundings. “Huh, I’ve never been on the other side.” Looking to his left, Eddie had taken purchase on the armchair, pulling his knees to his chest. His shorts, that were already _dangerously_ on the short side, slid down slightly, exposing more of Eddie’s thighs. _Get a hold of yourself Tozier_ , he told himself.

Richie looked away quickly, glad that the smaller man hadn’t seemed to notice his gaze. He really needed to control himself before song writing became increasingly _harder_. Extending his leg, Richie shoved the chair, with Eddie in it, further from the piano. “You’re just a fraction too close, just… back off—”

***

“I don’t think these chords are right. It has to sound… different from the verse.”

Richie looked up from the keyboard in his home music studio, sliding his headphones off to hang around his neck. They were in the homestretch and his body was twitching like an exposed electrical wire. “What kind of different?”

Eddie paced in the studio, waving around the yellow legal pad, “I don’t know. Something sadder, you know?”

Richie frowned, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the keys. With a few hours to finish the song, this was _not_ the time to be changing the instrumental.

“And I still don’t like my line about ‘places in my mind.’”

Richie groaned, “It’s fine!”

“Fine isn’t good!” Eddie snapped back.

“Fuck man, we only have time for fine.”

If looks could kill, Richie would certainly be fucking burning to death. Eddie glared at him with such heat and fervor, clearly not willing the budge.

“Fine, we can change ‘places in my mind’ if I can keep the chord sequence into the bridge.”

Eddie looked prepared to beat Richie with his notepad. “It isn’t a fucking negotiation! It’s either right or wrong, inspired or insipid.”

“It’s fucking four in the morning. We’re not writing the last movement to the ‘Four Seasons.’ It’s a song for someone who’s last hit was ‘Welcome to Bootytown.’ So please, can you get back to work?”

Crossing his arms, Eddie huffed, marching out of the studio into the living room, “I still don’t like it… And it’s ‘Entering Bootytown!’”

Richie could hear his continued shouting carrying throughout his apartment. “It’s so close! It’s just… not there yet.” He sighed, following Eddie only to find him with a watering can, busying himself with some hydrangeas.

Water poured onto the poor flowers as Richie spoke, “I get it, alright? We just have to… stay focused.” Richie grabbed Eddie by the shoulders and repositioned him in front of a leafier plant. “Okay, you may now start killing the next one.”

Eddie paused as if he were about to say something snarky in return but instead, chose to glare at Richie.

“I’m going to work on this arrangement, just… please keep writing, okay?”

Eddie gave him a slow nod, and Richie returned to the studio, determined to make this work.

About an hour had passed since their scuffle, and Richie was hard at work, recording the instrumental. While he tried to throw music together, Eddie came and went, with suggestions for the song. “Hey, I was thinking that ‘corners’ is _such_ a better word than ‘spaces.’ It has a better boundary to it, you know?” Richie couldn’t say he was listening though. “Should I speak to you about this later? Okay.”

Another hour came and went before Richie was mostly satisfied with the backing track that he had slapped together. He smiled to himself, as he played the recording for Eddie.

“It sounds amazing, I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it Spaghetti, and now… time for vocals.” Richie extended a set of headphones to Eddie. _This will be interesting_.

“What did I fucking tell you about calling— sorry, what?” Eddie’s voice turned to a squeak as he caught on to what Richie was implying. He backed away, shaking his head, eyes wide.

“No, you see Eds, you have to sing into the microphone,” Richie joked, “It won’t follow you.” He put on a warm smile, trying to ease Eddie’s worries.

“But I can’t,” Eddie said cautiously, his voice shaky.

“It’s a duet.”

Eddie just shook his head, eyes squinted shut. “Fuck, no I can’t, I don’t sing, what if I sound terrible and Adrian hates it and then it’ll all be ruined, I just can’t—”

Richie walked over slowly, interrupting Eddie before he could spiral and slipping the headphones over his ears. He placed a hand on Eddie’s face, tilting it up to look him in the eye. “You got this, alright? I believe in you, Eds.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment before Eddie tilted his head away from Richie’s palm, flushing profusely.

“Gotta say Eds, you look stunning,” Richie announced, shooting Eddie a wink. He didn’t miss Eddie’s stunned expression nor the redness spreading down Eddie’s neck. “Shut up asshole, let’s just get this over with.”

Richie smirked, putting on his own set of headphones. “‘Way Back into Love.’ Take one.’”

The instrumental began playing, and Richie looked over to Eddie, who was practically trembling. “Oh God, I’m getting really nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, just use your normal, nice voice that I’ve heard so much of in the last few days.”

Eddie was fanning himself with one hand and clutching his throat with the other. “Fuck, it’s like my throat is closing up. It’s like anaphylactic,” he claimed, making a sound that was the mix of a choke and a cough.

Richie couldn’t help but look at him amusement. Yeah, amusement, not _fondness_ or anything. “It’s fine, it’s just a three-minute song.”

Soon enough, the first verse began, and Eddie sang quietly, “I’ve been living with a shadow overhead, I’ve been sleeping with a cloud—” _Very_ quietly.

Richie cut the music mid phrase. “Just a little bit louder, Eddie Spaghetti. This song is intended for humans after all. ‘Way Back into Love.’ Take two.”

Eddie flipped him off before repositioning at the mic. He sang with more confidence this time, and Richie was appalled, to say the least. _Can’t sing my ass._

Richie couldn’t deny that they sounded amazing together. His harmonies seemed to counteract the sweet melody that Eddie was singing perfectly. Their voices just… fit.

_All I want to do is find a way back into love_

_I can’t make it through without a way back into love_

_And if I open my heart to you_

_I’m hoping you’ll show me what to do_

_And if you help me to start again_

_You know that I’ll be there for you in the end_

And with that they had a song.

After finishing up the final touches, Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and practically ran as he exited his apartment. They reached the streets, flapping their arms and shouting at the top of their lungs, trying to catch the attention of a cab driver.

“Hey, hey! Taxi! He’s gonna have a baby!” Richie belted, as a cab flew past them.

Not even pausing to mention the absurdity of Richie’s statement, Eddie yelled after the driver, “Hey, fuck you! What if that were true?”

They finally called a cab, both anxiously fidgeting during the 15 minute to ride to Adrian’s rehearsal space.

***

“Oh my God, it’s Adrian.”

Richie gave Eddie a look, raising his brow, “Come on, man, stay calm.”

Adrian sauntered over with a neutral expression on his face. “Hi, Richie.”

Richie flashed a wide grin before dramatically gesturing to Eddie, “Eddie Kaspbrak, my lyricist.”

“So, you have a song.”

The CD felt heavy in his hand as he held it out to Adrian. “We do. It’s a bit rough. Very rough. Just put together in my little studio.”

Immediately, Adrian snapped his fingers, and someone placed a CD player and earbuds in his hand. He relieved Richie of the CD and started to listen.

Richie felt this throat in his heart. Or was it his heart in his throat. He didn’t fucking know. “Oh, we’re gonna do it now? Great… no time like the present!” He tried to crack a joke, but it fell flat. God, his body felt so hot, and he was trembling with anticipation.

He felt pressure against his fingers. Eddie’s had slipped his hand into his, looking up at him with his big brown eyes and comforting smile. He squeezed Richie’s hand, and Richie couldn’t help but smile back.

Finally, after what felt like a decade, Adrian removed his earbuds. His remained expressionless, and Richie thought he might actually die. “This is the song I’ve been looking for. I can’t wait to work on it.” Without another word, Adrian was snapping his fingers and returning to his crew, leaving behind a stunned Richie, and even more alarmed Eddie.

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, picking up the smaller man and spinning him as they both laughed. “It’s unbelievable. We got the job! Eddie Kaspbrak, you are fucking incredible!”

Eddie only giggled in response as he finally set Eddie down, pulling him into a bear hug and squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Eds, thank you so fucking much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the link i posted last time didn't work lol but i love the soundtrack and will try to link again [here](https://open.spotify.com/album/3KUA0LO1oOBihaRV4qTmDw?si=x0wF6aVrTq2_RaoSIdZgHw)
> 
> thanks for comments, kudos, reading, etc


	4. Chapter 4

“To Eddie Spaghetti, the man who paved my way back to Knott’s Berry Farm!”

The sound of four glasses clinking echoed throughout the restaurant. The environment was… classy to say the least. Eddie looked down at his cloth shorts and tight-fitting V-neck and felt completely out of place. Stan and his wife, Patty he learned, were both dressed to the nines, Stan with chinos that clung to his legs and a navy blazer, and Patty with a flowy, maroon dress that matched Stan's button down, falling just above her knees. But, Stan had insisted on taking them out to dinner, and who was he to say no to a free meal?

Eddie glanced up at Richie sitting beside him. He was engaging in an intense discussion with Stan about an upcoming performance, some amusement park, and Eddie couldn’t help but smile fondly. His eyes sparkled as he described his set list, his love for music and performing shined.

Eddie was quick to look away, looking down and swirling his drink. His and Richie’s… relationship… was purely professional. Eddie had a service to provide, and now that he had served his purpose, they would soon part ways. Like a prostitute. Eddie cringed and mentally corrected himself, _not like a prostitute._

“Oh my God!”

Eddie turned toward the voice. Patty’s eyes were wide, staring at something behind him.

Stan swung an arm over shoulder, giving her a concerned look, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Patty didn’t respond for a second, her face frozen in an awe. “I think… I think that’s William Denbrough.”

Eddie paled, nearly dropping his drink. _Fuck fuck fuck._ Before he could convince himself not to, he jerked himself around, and there he was, clear as day, Bill Denbrough, speaking to the maître d. The man he never thought he’d see again, the man who made the last few years of his life hell.

Eddie couldn’t describe the avalanche of feelings he was experiencing. He knew he was angry; he had thought long and hard about what he would say to Bill if he ever saw him again. But he was also terrified. He balled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms.

He felt warmth on his thigh and tilted his head up, meeting Richie’s eyes, eyebrows drawn in tightly with concern.

Quickly averting his gaze, Eddie took one last glance in Bill’s direction before bolting out of his seat towards the restroom. He was extremely grateful to find single bathrooms, pressing his back against the door as soon as it was shut, allowing himself to slide down towards the ground. He was so shell shocked that he didn’t even think about how disgusting the floor was. Well, he thought about it a little.

Eddie pulled his knees tight against his chest, tilting his head to rest on the door. He was contemplating hiding for the next couple of hours when he heard a slight knock.

“Eds?”

Sighing in relief at the familiar voice, Eddie squeaked, “He’s at the bar.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Richie started, “But he’s not that great you know. I saw the beginnings of a bald patch.”

Eddie snorted, letting out a wet laugh, but remaining silent. He didn’t know when he started crying, but he made vain attempts to dry his tear stained cheeks.

“Seriously, Spaghetti, you have to come look!”

“Oh, shut the fuck up dumbass, he has a great head of hair.”

Eddie heard a strangled sigh from the other side of the door. “Eddie… unlock the door. Please.”

Eddie shook his head furiously even though he knew Richie couldn’t see him. “No, I think I’ll just stay in here until he leaves. Maybe you could send in a salad… and an iced tea?”

Richie let out a low chuckle. “Right, I’ll get the waiter. Would you like the dessert cart as well?”

“Fuck off!”

“Come on Eds, this is ridiculous.”

There was a moment of silence before Eddie spoke, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I’ve been dreaming about confronting him for so long. I had this speech prepared for over a year. Would you like to hear it?”

Eddie could hear Richie’s hesitation as he said, “Yeah… very much.”

Inhaling deeply, Eddie began to recite words that he had never said aloud, but that were ingrained in his memory. “Bill, even though Evelyn Kates only lives on paper, I live in the real world. And I can never forgive you for using me as raw material… to create a fictional monster. Evelyn Kates is my own personal ghost, a shadow hanging over each phone call and cup of iced tea. And one cold day, when age has robbed your mind of its fertile phrases, and your hand of its dexterity, all the success won’t be able to shield you from the pain you’ve caused, and the shame you deserve.”

Richie was silent.

“Or something like that… But I could never _actually_ say that to him.”

“No, Eds… fuck, you have to say that. You have to say it right now.”

Eddie just shook his head to himself, “Rich…”

“No, it’s literally the perfect time. You just wrote a song for like, the biggest act in the universe. You’re on top of the fucking world.”

Eddie felt his breathing become more ragged, “But I can’t.”

“You _can_ and you have to!” Richie exclaimed. “People wait a lifetime to see an ex-lover when things go well, and it never happens. You can make history here.”

“No, Richie,” Eddie said firmly, “I can’t. I mean, look at me. I haven’t showered in days. I’m covered in song writing grime.”

“Okay okay, so you’re a little gross right now, but… wait. Wait here, okay?”

“Where the fuck would I go?”

About five minutes later, when Richie had returned, Eddie was stunned to hear Stan’s calm voice from the other side of the door. “Eddie, open up.”

Sighing, Eddie finally opened the door. Immediately, Stan threw his blazer at Eddie, stepping into the restroom and relocking the door. He waited for Stan to offer some explanation, but he began to unbutton his slacks, only further confusing Eddie.

“Uh… Stan?”

Slipping off his shoes and sliding his pants down his legs, Stan turned his attention to Eddie, “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

Stan continued to undress, pants hanging over one arm as he undid the buttons of his shirt. “Giving you my clothes,” he said plainly, as if it were obvious. “The pants will be a bit long, but it should be fine if you cuff them.”

Eddie couldn’t even imagine the look on his face as he stared at Stan, awestruck. Eventually Stan remained only in his briefs, offering Eddie the rest of his outfit. “Well?”

***

Eddie stepped out of the bathroom feeling a little more confident. Other than the length of the chinos, Stan’s clothes looked… pretty good on him. He appreciated Stan’s fashion sense and felt lucky that Stan dressed on the slimmer side.

Stan, on the other hand, looked rather interesting in Eddie’s white tee and red shorts.

“Over ten years of being a manager, and I’ve finally managed to help someone.”

“Hey!”

Eddie felt Richie’s eyes on him. “Wow, Eds. Looking slick.”

He felt his warmth spread through his face. “It doesn’t really fit.”

Richie shot him a bright smile, teeth bared. “Oh, on the contrary my dear Spaghetti. It fits you perfectly.”

They held each other’s gaze for what felt like a decade. Eddie could spend hours looking into Richie’s dark eyes. In the matter of days, Richie had turned his whole life around. Richie believed in him, he pushed him to be better. Yeah, he was helping Richie with the song, but he could not thank Richie enough for the last few days.

Stan coughed, pulling Eddie from his thoughts. He watched Stan head back to the table and immediately looked to his feet, eyeing his worn sneakers. It would have to do.

“Okay, Eds, you ready?”

The impending fear of what he was about to do began to overtake him. “I think I’m developing a coronary blockage.”

Richie just grinned.

“Shortness of breath. Blurred vision.”

Richie stepped into Eddie’s space, placing his hand under his chin and tilting his head up. “You’ll be fine.”

Breathless, Eddie spoke quietly, “Scurvy?”

“You look… beautiful.”

Eddie felt a corner of his lips upturn. “Really?”

“Yes really, and don’t you ever think otherwise, Eds. You got this.”

And with that, Richie was all but shoving Eddie towards Bill until they were close enough to overhear his conversation.

“—said ‘I don’t write bestsellers because I despise humanity.’ And I said, ‘No, you don’t write bestsellers because the feeling his mutual!’” Bill was chatting with a few people at the bar. Eddie was struggling to maintain his composure and couldn’t stop Richie from tapping Bill on the shoulder and ducking behind him.

“Can I he— My God. Eddie?”

Eddie rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs. _Sorry Stan._ It took all his strength and will to get out two, simple words, “Hi Bill.”

“Wow, it’s been… wow, how are you?” Bill questioned, pulling Eddie in for a tight hug.

Eddie tensed, thinking about the last time he had been this close to his former mentor. “I’m… fine, yeah.” _God, why won’t my voice work_ , he thought to himself.

“Good, good, it’s great to see you.”

“I see you’ve kicked the stutter.” Eddie winced as the words left his mouth. This was going _swell_.

Bill chuckled shyly. “Well, it’s been an eternity. You look great by the way.”

Eddie felt heat spreading over his face, down his neck, throughout his whole fucking body. “Oh… uh, thanks.”

“You were always mysteriously seductive, weren’t you?” Bill teased, smirking.

Clearly Richie sensed that he was floundering, as he interjected, “He’s writing a song for Adrian Mellon.”

Bill looked a bit confused to have their _stellar_ conversation interrupted. “What? No. Wait, you’re a song writer?”

Eddie thought he was going to pass out. He tried to force a coherent sentence out but was unsuccessful. “I… I wrote…”

“Brilliant lyrics. Fantastic,” Richie continued. “A lot of people are talking about them, actually.”

“I had a pen, a paper, and wrote…” _Welp,_ Eddie told himself, _this is the day you die_. He stood like a statue, unable to will himself to move.

Richie pushed on, “Bill, the thing is, even though Evelyn Kates lives on paper, Eddie lives in the real world… And he can never forgive you—”

“Mr. Denbrough, your table is ready.”

Bill turned towards his company, “Hey, I’ll be right there,” before returning his gaze to Eddie. “I’m sorry. They’re throwing this little dinner thing for me. It’s crazy how people get when Hollywood comes calling.”

_Hollywood?_ “Hollywood?” Eddie managed.

Bill grinned, “I’ve sold out! They’re making a film out of Evelyn Kates.”

If Eddie thought things couldn’t get any worse… well he was wrong. _Very_ wrong. “Oh… really?” he asked as he forced a grimace, feigning intrigue.

“It’s been crazy. I wrote the script, we’re looking into casting, it’s been… you know. But listen, it’s great seeing you.” Bill pulled Eddie in for another hug as he stood stock still, flashing a bright smile. “Let’s get together, okay? Take care of yourself.”

Bill headed towards his table without another word.

Eddie felt his world shattering. He forgot Richie was even there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Well…must feel good to get that over with.”

Eddie willed himself not to cry. “I just wanna go home.”

“Okay okay. Hang on. Just… hang on one second.” Richie lumbered after Bill and placed a firm grip on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you let him say what he came here to say?”

Bill brushed Richie off him. “I know what he’s going to say, okay? Some sad story about how I ruined his life. Well, the truth is… he seduced me, so that I’d get him published, okay?”

“Come on, man. You were engaged, and you didn’t even tell him.”

“I’d say were done talking,” Bill said firmly.

Eddie could do nothing but watch and ruminate on Bill’s words. _Fuck._ He knew that he shouldn’t let it affect him, but it hurt. It fucking _hurt_. It looked like they were still talking, but Eddie wasn’t listening. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling beads of tears roll down his face.

Things must have escalated quickly, as he opened his eyes just in time to see Bill’s fist connecting with Richie’s face. The force caused Richie to fall back onto a poor couple’s table.

“Fuck you, dude!” Richie shouted, regaining his balance and adjusting his glasses. He seemed ready to _really_ get into with Bill, but Stan suddenly appeared, pulling him back.

Eddie made a move to run out of the restaurant, but Richie caught his wrist with one hand, cradling his jaw with the other. “Let’s go back to my place, yeah?”

***

The ice pack was cold against Eddie’s palm. Richie’s thigh was warm and pressed against his as they sat in silence on the couch.

“Thanks. For like, defending my honor, I guess,” Eddie finally said.

“Of course, Spaghetti. I’d do anything for you.” He sounded almost too sincere.

Hesitantly, Eddie asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, perfect condition. Though I may have impaled myself on a dinner roll,” Richie replied with a grin.

Eddie snorted. “Not that jackass, your cheek. You should get some ice on that,” he said, waving around the ice pack.

“Only if it’s attached to some whiskey.”

The smile fell from Eddie’s face as he thought of the events that had just occurred. “God. I can’t believe you convinced me to do that. Now I’m more of a fucking joke to him than ever. And to top it off, I’ll have my own personal nightmare playing on thousands of screens!”

Richie gave Eddie a sympathetic look, but remained silent, so Eddie continued. “And you know what the worst part is?”

“You stole a man’s outfit? Your red shorts are gone, never to be seen again?” Richie offered.

“The worst part is that he still has some kind of _power_ over me. I still care about what he thinks.”

“I’m sorry,” Richie said, unapologetically, “but why the fuck do you give any shits about what he thinks? The guy is a dick.”

“Well, that’s easy for you to say, but—”

“No. He’s a dick. No fucking question, he’s a dick.”

“Can you please stop saying the word dick?” Eddie shouted.

“Here’s what I think,” Richie started, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “I think that you’re terrified of losing Evelyn Kates because you’d have nothing left to hide behind, and you’d have to stand on your own to feet. No more excuses.”

Eddie paused to think to himself “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Especially from you.”

Richie flushed. “Well… I have amazing insight. I would use it on myself, only I don’t have any problems.”

Eddie threw his head back, cackling. _Yes, Eddie, very attractive._

“And here’s my other insight. You are way too talented and gifted and… unusual to let anyone keep you from standing.”

Eddie put on a warm smile. “That’s shockingly sensitive, Rich. Especially from someone with such ugly shirts and such tight pants.”

Giggling, _God, why is this cute,_ Richie retorted, “It forces all the blood to my heart.”

They laughed together, allowing the negative emotions from the night to dissipate into the air.

“Listen, you were amazing tonight Eds.”

“As were you,” Eddie forced through his quieting laughter.

“The few syllables you got out were absolutely devastating.”

Remembering the ice pack, Eddie tilted his body towards Richie and abruptly pressed it to his right cheek. “Does this feel any better?”

“It would if it was on the right side.”

Eddie slowly moved the ice pack to his other cheek, becoming increasingly aware of how close they were; Richie’s lips mere inches from his own. He instantly felt a strong desire to just… close the gap.

And he gave in, leaning in quickly and pressing a chaste kiss on Richie’s lips. Richie didn’t respond, but as Eddie pulled back, his eyes were dark and his cheeks were dusted pink. “And that?”

Richie stumbled over his words, “Yeah… that felt…”

Eddie leaned in again, pressing another quick kiss to his lips. He continued kissing down Richie’s jaw and to his neck. Richie let out a quiet, low groan, tilting his head back to offer Eddie easier access. Eddie began to suckle on Richie’s pale skin, not caring if he was leaving any marks.

He pulled back, licking his lips, and raised his eyes to meet Richie’s. The other man was letting out soft pants. His pupils were blown, and he was looking back at Eddie lustfully. Eddie felt a coil of heat building in his stomach. Breathlessly, he asked again, “And that?”

Richie looked stunned for a second, before reaching his arms around Eddie and hooking them under his thighs, pulling him onto his lap. He pulled their bodies flush against each other, pressing their foreheads together. Eddie could feel Richie’s warm breath again his skin.

“Much, much better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi sooo sorry this took so long i've been busy studying for the mcat and i was just not looking forward to writing a certain scene in this. and sorry again for short-ish chapters, i just stop whenever it seems right. i think 2 more chapters after this? but subject to change.
> 
> thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm so so sorry this took so long! my mcat is a couple weeks away and i just haven't been able to bring myself to write. i feel like the chapter doesn't flow as smoothly as i want it to, but it does its job. enjoy!
> 
> i linked the soundtrack a couple of chapters ago and highly suggest you listen to some of the songs (they're great)

To say Eddie had a rude awakening would be a fucking understatement.

The sound of a phone ringing pulled him from his reprieve, and he abruptly sat straight up, or at least tried to, coming in contact with a hard surface.

“Motherfucker!”

Laying back slowly, he let his eyes adjust to light and came to the sudden realization that he was not in his apartment. He was on the floor? His stretched an arm upward, drifting his fingers across the wooden panels above him. Wood. Wood of piano.

_Fuck._

Eddie gathered the sheets around him, clutching them to his bare skin as he slid out from beneath the piano. As he scoured the floor for his clothes, _Stan’s clothes_ , he heard a muffled voice and the sliding of the door that lead to the patio.

“He’s up, I gotta go… what do you mean fan friendly pants? Oh, fuck off… I’m hanging up.”

Richie chucked his phone onto the couch, running both hands through his hair and sighing. The slight muscles in his shoulders flexed with his lifted arms, and Eddie _definitely_ wasn’t tracing his arms with his eyes, down to his bare chest, to the dark trail of hair leading to… _nope!_

Eddie stood awkwardly, still wrapped in sheets, willing the blood running to his lower half to stay where it was.

“Morning Eds.”

“Hi…,” Eddie replied, hesitantly.

Richie gave him a soft smile, looking at him… affectionately? “That was uhh, Stan, checking in.”

Eddie flushed, feeling heat spread over his body. “Riiiight… I’m just gonna get dressed.”

Dark slacks caught Eddie’s eye, and he hurriedly snatched them off the floor. He glanced at the sheets surrounding him, then looked back to Richie, bashfully. He gestured with the pants in hand, “Um…”

Richie’s eyes widened, “Oh! Yeah, I’ll… go make coffee.”

And with that, Richie was exiting his line of sight. Eddie let out of a sigh of relief and quickly dressed. He needed to get _out._

A few minutes passed before Richie returned, brandishing two mugs. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, but there’s sugar and milk in the kitchen.”

Eddie accepted the coffee, unable to look Richie in the eye. “Black is fine, thanks.”

They both sipped in silence. Eddie stared down at the dark swirling liquid. “I should go,” he finally said.

Richie pursed his lips, looking almost disappointed. “Sure thing, Eds.”

Eddie couldn’t say it didn’t hurt a little, that Richie was just going to let him leave. He didn’t let himself think about that as he slowly made for the door. Reaching a hand for the doorknob, he felt a sudden grip on his wrist, gently pulling him back.

“I would obviously invite you to stay… it’s just that I have a show today.”

_Oh._ Richie wanted him to _stay_.

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yes. A big one,” Richie said with a smirk.

Eddie raised an eyebrow in response, failing miserably to stop his lips from upturning in a smile.

“I’m headlining at Adventureland Amusement Park: Long Island’s family fun center. Biggest outdoor amusement center east of Rye Playland,” Richie proclaimed with feigned enthusiasm. “You have my permission to be impressed.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. “Sounds great…,” he said, trailing off.

Richie looked down to the floor, still holding on to Eddie. He had a conflicted look on his face, chewing lightly on his lower lip. “I mean, you… You could come.”

***

_I said I wasn’t gonna lose my head_

_But then pop! goes my heart_

_And I just can’t let you go_

“Thank you, Adventureland. You’ve been a blast!”

Eddie waited with Stan as Richie stepped off the stage, subtly nudging his glasses up and scrubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes.

Eddie had to admit, Richie was a stunning performer. He belonged on a stage; his bright eyes and smile, his overwhelming presence.

“That was great,” Eddie offered. “You… you were great.”

Richie grimaced slightly. “Yeah?”

Gently bumping his shoulder against Richie’s, Eddie grinned. “Yeah.”

“Good show,” Stan managed.

“Aw gee, Stanny, tell me how you really feel.”

Stan let out a sigh. “Shut up, jackass. You gotta do the encore.”

The smile dropped from Richie’s face. “Do I really have to?”

“It’s in the contract.”

Burying his face in his palms, Richie groaned, “This is embarrassing. They don’t want it.”

Eddie glanced over to the sparse crowd. Some kids running through the seats. Some tired parents. He frowned. “No, it’s not. These songs, they’re amazing. I mean, I’ve never heard most of them before… but they’re catchy and they’re making people happy and they’re just… good. So you should be incredibly proud to sing them.”

Lifting an eyebrow in his surprise, Richie muttered cautiously, “You’re not just saying that because you’ve been on the Tilt-a-Whirl?”

Eddie shook his head lightly. “They’re good.”

With a final sigh, Richie turned to Stan, “Alrighty, then. ‘Dance with Me Tonight,’ Staniel!” Returning his gaze to Eddie, he said, “It’s not often one man gets to say that to another with such fervor.”

Eddie giggled, giving Richie a shove. “Get out there, asshole.”

_I’m looking at you, you’re looking at me_

_We’re the only two off the dance floor_

_Do you see what I see?_

_Two broken lives, working in harmony_

_Might make for a decent time_

_So get up and dance with me_

The first words out of Richie’s mouth when he got off the stage were, “How much money did we make?”

Stan cleared his throat as they walked to the parking lot. “I don’t talk business in front of non-clients.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Richie teased.

Stan sighed as he unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I have a ballpark figure.”

Eddie took a seat in the back, mildly surprised when Richie joined him. “Is it enough for a nice dinner?”

Eddie froze. “Dinner… Oh fuck, I’m supposed to go to Bev’s for dinner. Shit, I’m gonna be late.”

Richie rested a hand on Eddie’s knee and gave a light squeeze. “Don’t you worry Eds, we can drop you off. We’ll be there in no time.”

Eddie smiled at the contact, soothed my Richie’s presence. “You know… she wouldn’t get mad at me or anything if you came,” he said, hesitantly.

Richie raised his eyebrows suggestively, “Bringing me home to meet the family, eh?”

Heat flooded Eddie’s face, turning away so the taller man couldn’t see. “Fuck off, she waters _your_ plants you know!”

“She’ll definitely be surprised to find them all dead.”

“Shut up asshole, do you want to come or not?”

Stan cleared his throat from behind the wheel. “I for one, can’t go.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, shooting daggers through the back of Stan’s head. “ _Thanks Stan._ ” He turned his attention back to Richie, feeling hopeful, and hopefully not actually showing that he was feeling that way.

“I’d love to come. Come on Stan the Man, step on it!”

***

Eddie placed his plate in the sink, smiling to himself as he listened to Beverly fawn over Richie.

“The potatoes were great Bev,” he heard Richie say.

“Oh, thanks! Here have some more!”

“Oh no, no I’m totally stuffed.”

Eddie could faintly hear the sound of mashed potatoes plopping onto a plate.

“I knew you’d love them! Just say when.”

“When! When! That’s plenty, thank you.”

Eddie let out a low laugh. It was nice to see that the most important people in his life got along. Oh fuck, is that how Eddie thought of Richie now?

_Cool it, Kaspbrak_ , he told himself. They’d known each other for less than a week, but Richie was quickly laying roots in Eddie’s life. Richie made Eddie feel strong and important, and after a lifetime of feeling like he wasn’t good enough, it was something he never knew he needed.

Eddie let himself get lost in the feeling of the sudsy water. He let himself get lost in the thought of Richie. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed writing this much, the last time he enjoyed… _anything_ that much. As sad as it was to think, Eddie never opened up much, or laughed much, or let himself get comfortable, but with Richie, it was easy.

He was pulled from his thoughts, jumping at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Rinsing off the last dish, Eddie looked toward the familiar voice and smiled. “Hey.”

“So I just got off the phone.” Richie wore a soft grin, letting out a sigh. “Adrian is back in town tomorrow and wants to meet us at his studio. To work on the song, I guess.”

Eddie pursed his lips, drying his hands. Maybe this was commonplace for song writing? He was a bit defensive, he supposed, but he was really fucking happy with the song the way it is.

“And he wants to know if we like wheatgrass.”

Eddie forced a light chuckle, “Sounds ominous.” He hesitated before pushing further, “Are you… worried, at all?”

“Well, I don’t…”

“If you’re not worried, I’m not worried,” Eddie interjected.

Richie lifted a hand and gently rested it on Eddie’s cheek. He gave a warm smile, looking at Eddie affectionately. “You’ve got your worried eyes. You look like a little worried puppy. Cute, cute, cute!”

Eddie giggled, whispering, “Beep beep, Rich,” with no bite behind the words. He could’ve stayed in that moment forever. Soft touches, loving? glances.

Unfortunately, Richie took a step back, dropping his hand. “I really should go,” he said begrudgingly. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, okay?”

Eddie tried not to show his disappointment. “Yeah… of course.”

“Well, goodbye, and thank you. Thank you very much for all of this. Especially for your support today,” Richie said softly.

“Today was great, really great,” Eddie replied, leading Richie out, a soft “Bye, Rich,” escaping his lips as the door shut.

He leaned against the door, rubbing his hands over his eyes. When he looked back up, he was met with Bev’s amused face and Ben, silent by her side.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” Bev exclaimed.

“Yeah, but I know you. I can tell when you’re being judgy.”

Bev sighed, “Sweetie…”

“Look, I like Richie, alright? Is that what you want to hear?” Eddie proclaimed, returning his hands to scrub over his face. “I mean, he’s fucking Richie Tozier. Hot, and funny, and surprisingly sweet.”

“And he ate our mashed potatoes,” Ben offered, causing the three of them to erupt in muffled giggles.

Bev walked over to Eddie, swinging an arm over his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “Eddie, you don’t fall a lot,” she started, hesitantly. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him, so if you are falling for him… just please, _please_ , make sure he’s passionate about you.”

Ben hummed in agreement.

Eddie let out an audible groan. “Well, I mean, I’m not falling… We’re just working together, you know?”

Bev nodded lightly, but the doubt was clear in her eyes.

“And besides,” he rambled, “we’ve only slept together that one time. Other than that, it’s been totally professional.”

Bev gasped, turning to face Eddie, not bothering to hide the giddy look on her face. “You did not!”

Realizing what he had said, he sighed and admitted, “I did.”

“You slept with Richie Tozier?!” Ben exclaimed.

“Oh my God.”

“Don’t worry about it, alright?” Eddie tried to shove Bev off, but she tightened her grip around him. “How the fuck do you know who’s passionate anyways?”

“You know, I think… I think you just see it in their eyes,” Ben said with a loving smile on his face, aimed towards Beverly. “And you feel it in their touch.”

“In Ben’s case, it was when he heard about the shit with my dad and said, ‘I’m marrying you anyways,’” Bev sighed.

“God, you two are disgusting.”

Bev chuckled softly. “I don’t know. I think it’s just when they do something… extraordinary. Eddie, just be careful, okay?”

Eddie forced a small smile, corners of his lips barely upturning, and nodded slowly.

***

Eddie was realizing that he hated the color magenta. Being in a hot room, listening to the sounds of chanting, magenta lights flashing everywhere, was enough to make Eddie despise the color.

He turned down the wheatgrass offered to him from a scantily dressed back up dancer.

Richie leaned down, bringing his lips close to Eddie’s ear. “Is it just me, or is all this horrifying?”

Eddie snorted, “It’s definitely something else.”

“This room is the love child of Siddhartha Gautama and Madonna.”

“ _Who?_ ”

Richie grinned. “You know, the Buddha?”

Before he could ask why the fuck Richie knew that, Adrian began to walk toward them, dressed in the _smallest_ shorts Eddie had ever seen. And Eddie wore a lot of shorts.

“I want you to hear the new intro to ‘Way Back into Love,’” he said abruptly.

Eddie couldn’t help but frown.

“Instead of just starting the song with piano,” Adrian continued, “we get this heavy Indian thing going, very rhythmic. Don, give me a beat: steamy and _sticky_.”

Adrian seductively raised his arms, gyrating his hips to the _beat_.

The guy, Don apparently, began to speak emphatically over the sound. To Eddie, it just sounded like he was trying really hard to softly rap. And he was failing.

“Way back into love, yeah.

He’s been living with a shadow overhead.

He’s been sleeping a cloud above his bed.

Go Adrian, go Adrian.

Got a new song that’s gonna getcha…”

Adrian threw his head back, dropping to his knees and sliding his hands up and down his body. “Way back into looooove,” he sang, or rather, moaned.

God, Eddie did not know what he was listening to. “You know, I think I will get some wheatgrass after all.”

Adrian stood up sharply, and the beat stopped. A hurt look flashed across his face. “You don’t like it.”

Eddie began to speak, but Richie spoke over him. “No. No, no, no, it’s not that. He’s just had his eye on that wheatgrass since we came in.”

Eddie shot him a glare. _What the fuck_ , he tried to convey with his eyes.

Though Richie pressed on, “What you’re doing there, that thing there, is great. It’s… steamy, and it’s sticky. Which is… one is normally enough, but the combo, you know, is even better.”

A voice called out to Adrian, “A, time for the press shoot.”

Adrian smiled sweetly, nodding his head slightly. “I really like what we came up with. Oh, and add another verse. It doesn’t feel like the song ends yet.”

“Another verse?” Eddie exclaimed, startled.

Not addressing his question, Adrian continued, “I’m having a pre-recording session party at my place. I want you both to come.”

“We’ll be there,” Richie proclaimed, too loudly.

Adrian began to walk away, and Eddie panicked. Was that really how they were going to leave the song?

“I think that though… that…” he sputtered, but Adrian didn’t turn back. “But, wait!”

Eddie felt a grip on his wrist and was being dragged out of this hell hole before he knew it.

“You didn’t _actually_ like that orgasm set to the Gandhi soundtrack, did you?” Eddie questioned, wondering how Richie was staying so calm about this. Eddie couldn’t believe that he thought _he_ was going to ruin the song, Adrian seemed perfectly fine doing that himself.

“Well,” Richie started, “I thought it was, you know, horrible. I mean, it simultaneously destroyed two musical cultures in less than a minute.”

Eddie yanked his hand out of Richie’s grip, waving his arms. “We have to tell him!”

Richie pursed his lips. “Uh, no. I don’t think we do. If he wants to dance, let him dance.”

“I don’t understand. Wait. I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” Eddie looked expectantly at Richie, but he remained silent. “Your heroes, Queen, Dylan, they would never let this happen.”

“That’s a _completely_ different thing,” Richie snapped. “They were geniuses. They wrote dinner, I write dessert.”

Eddie scoffed. “No. You are better than dessert. That’s why I’m going to tell him what I think at that party.”

Panic quickly flittered in Richie’s eyes. “No, you are not.”

Eddie felt his face getting hot, anger building. “Yes, I am,” he insisted.

“Well, then you’re no longer invited.”

“Excuse you?” Eddie exclaimed. “She invited me.”

“No, she invited us, as a team. Now that we disagree, we no longer present a united front, and are thus, un-teamed.”

“So are you going?”

Richie pondered for a second. “I might. I don’t want to be rude or anything.”

“Well, I don’t want to be rude either!” Eddie retorted.

“You don’t think that telling the host that he’s destroyed two musical cultures is rude?”

Eddie let out a frustrated noise. Because, well, frustrated was putting it pretty fucking lightly. “Your words, not mine. And I have to say what I think. I can’t work this way.”

Richie huffed a humorless laugh. “You can’t work this way? You’ve been a song writer for what? Six days?”

“God created the universe in six days.” _Nice one, Eddie._

“And he never had a hit! Okay, he did. He had, ‘He’s Got the Whole World in—”

“I’m going to the party,” Eddie asserted.

“You are _not_ going to the party. You, Spaghetti, are grounded.”

Eddie took a step back. “I’ll see you there,” he said venomously.

He stormed off, ignoring Richie’s calls.

***

Eddie walked into Adrian’s party purposefully, a spring in his step. He put on his nicest pair of jeans, the black ones that hugged his ass just right. He wore a fitted maroon button up, the top three buttons undone. He dressed confidently; he needed all the confidence he could get.

He looked around and saw Richie chatting with Adrian at the top of the stairwell. He could do this. He _had_ to do this.

With each step up the stairs, he felt his heart racing, what little confidence that he had draining rapidly. As he reached the second floor, Adrian noticed him before he could prepare anything to say.

“Hey! Now there’s my other favorite song writer.”

“Adrian,” Eddie said firmly. He refused to let himself bail. “I really wanted to talk to you—”

“About the fact that we’re going to have to leave early!” Richie interjected, shooting an icy glare towards Eddie. “To finish the song, which is very _important_ to us.”

“You can’t leave yet,” Adrian exclaimed with a frown. “Come see the house! I wanna show you the roof.”

And with that, he walked off, presumably towards the roof. With a sigh, Eddie followed, Richie hot on his trail.

The roof was… nice, Eddie supposed. There were lights strung up, and the music wasn’t so loud.

Adrian was rambling about something. Eddie couldn’t tell what. He was too focused on finding the right words to say. How do you tell someone their art is awful, nicely?

“Adrian, I definitely see how much you’ve thought about the song and—”

“Great roof,” Richie interrupted. “In a very interesting place as well, right—”

“Eddie was about to say something,” Adrian said.

“Was he?” Richie gave Eddie a look, silently pleading. “I don’t think he was, no.”

Eddie looked back at Richie, determined. _I have to do this_ , passed wordlessly between them.

“What I wanted to say is that I appreciate that you’re bringing thought to the music, but… I really and honestly feel like we’re pandering.”

“Which means trying to make others like you, which I think is a really nice thing!” Richie proclaimed.

Eddie ignored him and pushed on. “The song is about struggle, you know, to show your true feelings. And your very confident sexual display… is, you know, a total contradiction of that fear and insecurity.”

Adrian tilted his head, giving Eddie a puzzled look. “No, I don’t think so. And my fans love it when I dance.”

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” Richie offered.

“My last album only went to number two,” Adrian continued, voice rising.

“But in this case,” Eddie insisted, “If you trust us—”

“And Shakira is breathing down my neck!” Adrian practically shouted, emphatically. “So I wanna _dance_.”

“You shall dance,” Richie blurted out.

Adrian closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. As he opened his eyes, he looked to Eddie, surprisingly calm. “But thank you for your honesty, Eddie. Cherish your passion.”

Someone called out from the other side of the roof. “Adrian! Timberlake’s here. Wants to say hi.”

Adrian smiled, “Thank you both for coming. I’m looking forward to the new verse.”

“Adrian, wait.”

“Eds, it’s over.”

Eddie tried to suppress the anger that was threatening to boil over.

Richie pressed a hand gently to Eddie’s cheek, tilting Eddie’s face towards his. “Can we just go back to my place? Finish writing the song?”

Eddie nodded solemnly.

***

Eddie plopped himself in the chair by the piano, tucking his knees close to his chest. There was a brooding silence between him and Richie, but Eddie felt if he tried to talk, he would burst.

Richie tried to break the tension. “Well it was a very nice try, but you have hit the karmic wall.” _Emphasis on tried._

“With no help from you!” Eddie snapped. “You just stood there. Talk about pandering.”

“I did not pander,” Richie insisted. “I just told her what she wanted to hear.”

Eddie snorted. “I’m gonna go tell her the truth.”

“You _just_ did. You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“And you’re not stubborn enough to stand up for what’s right,” Eddie retorted. “You know, I found your solo album.”

Eddie had done some internet stalking, sue him. He was sure there was a reason that Richie never mentioned the album, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Richie paled. “You did, _what?_ ” he asked slowly, words icy.

“And I don’t want to see you do what you did on your solo album again.”

Richie barked out a loud laugh, emotionless. “I don’t need the reminder of how I’m a huge failure, Eddie.”

“You were trying so hard to get a hit that it wasn’t you! The songs were soulless,” Eddie proclaimed.

“I agree,” Richie stated plainly. “But ours has soul, so…”

“But not if we let Adrian ruin it. And you know that. Why are you so _scared_ to care?”

Richie ran his hands through his hair, looking at Eddie coldly. “Because it won’t matter. Because behind all her Buddhism-in-a-thong philosophy, what she cares about is seats filled and units sold. Because at the end of the day, it’s all just business.”

“What is?”

“All of it. Everything. That’s why they call it the music business,” Richie asserted. “It’s a good thing. I wish everything in life was that clear. I want something from you, you want something from me. No false promises or expectations.”

_Huh._

Eddie tried not to look hurt, but it fucking _hurt_. So that’s all he was to Richie. He needed something from Eddie, and as soon as he didn’t need him, Richie was going to just toss him aside. He never _meant_ anything to Richie. And here he thought…

“Well, congratulations on your feel-good song.”

Richie sighed deeply, grabbing a notepad and taking a seat at the piano. “I’m sorry, okay? Can we just finish this verse? We have the night, part of the morning… the teeniest little bit of the afternoon.”

Eddie snatched the notepad from Richie and grabbed a pen. He stared down and pressed the pen to the yellow paper, but the words didn’t flow. He inhaled deeply, scribbling five words, and passed it back to Richie.

Richie squinted at the writing. “I can’t read it. What does that say?”

“Sorry, I can’t do this.”

Richie pressed his fingers to the piano keys, playing the tune that had become ingrained in Eddie’s mind. He tried to sing along, “Sorry, I can’t do-oo-oo this.”

“Not sure about the scansion there, Eds.”

Eddie got to his feet and made his way towards the door. He had to go, he really _really_ had to go.

“Wait, are you leaving?” Richie asked, exasperatedly.

Eddie looked to his feet, unable to meet Richie’s eyes. “Yeah. I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll think of something later.”

“There is no later! He needs the song tomorrow. If we don’t give it to him, he’ll go to someone else. I could lose this.”

“I’m sorry, Rich. I want to help, I do.” Richie looked unconvinced. “I want to help you finish, but I can’t. I can’t write when I feel… like _this_. I’m not inspired.”

“I don’t care!” Richie exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “I don’t care if you’re fucking inspired. Inspiration is for amateurs. I just want four lines, just four, _please_.”

Eddie pressed his lips into a thin line. “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can and you won’t.”

“Are you saying I wanted this to happen?” Eddie retorted. If Richie wanted to yell, Eddie could fucking yell.

“I’m saying this is what you do! You push and push and then move the fucking furniture around, and talk all the time, and screw everything up… just like _he_ said.”

Eddie felt something inside him break. “Who’s he? What are you talking about? What are you saying?”

“I read the book because I wanted to come to you and say, ‘You’re not at all like Evelyn Kates.’ But you know what? He captured you perfectly!”

Eddie felt the tears welling, threatening to spill over. Every part of him ached. He was heaving. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He felt like he could barely hold himself up. Like all the walls he had built were crumbling down and then some. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… I’m saying that Bill Denbrough was right.”

“Oh, my God,” Eddie sobbed. The person who made him feel safe, who knew exactly how to hurt him. The person who he had come to…

“Please take that back.”

But Richie pressed on. “The poor, innocent, helpless boy, ‘I can’t write,’ he says to himself, has co-authored three-quarters of a song and is holding it ransom because he can’t get what he wants! You think life is this fairy tale. When it turns out that everything doesn’t end happily, you can’t deal with it!”

Eddie scrambled for the door handle. “Fuck you, Richie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah... sorry to leave it there, but one chapter left! i hope to get it out in the next month
> 
> shameless plug, i wrote a [one shot here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073185) (it's a bit sad) and would love it if you checked it out! i put a lot of work into it and i'm just proud of it
> 
> also here's the [sticky version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=stHGEzpX5yM) of way back into love, it was impossible for me to truly put this scene into words
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! always appreciate comments, kudos, feedback
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr if you would like [@lightfiltersin](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lightfiltersin)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a relatively short chapter for a relatively short story
> 
> i linked the soundtrack a few chapters back. highly suggest listening to the song from this chapter.

“Adrian, Richie Tozier is here.”

Richie startled, barely aware of his legs moving, of the people around him. He was sure that he had never been more tired in his life. He had sat at his piano for who knows how long, practically banging his head on the keys. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, and now he was left with a killer headache, no verse, and no Eddie.

_Eddie_. Fuck. Richie still couldn’t believe he could say something so cruel. He was just so… frustrated and scared and fuck. No explanation he could force would make what he said excusable.

Adrian stepped out of the sound booth, headphones hanging around his neck, and shot Richie a soft smile. “Hey, Rich.”

“Adrian, hi. Listen, I need to talk to you about the new verse,” Richie said hesitantly. “It’s not… completely formed yet, in the classical sense. It’s more of a string of words that you can connect in almost any way.”

Richie felt a tidal wave of words prepared to rush out of his mouth, to somehow beg for extra time for that stupid fucking third verse, but Adrian cut him off.

“I got the lyrics. Eddie sent them over this morning. They are absolutely beautiful! It’s what I always wanted to say to my boyfriend. The perfect end to the song.”

Huh.

That was news. After Eddie left that night, after all the horrible, _horrible_ , things Richie had said to him, he was sure that Eddie would want nothing to do with him, it was what he deserved. He wasn’t even sure if Eddie would come to the show.

Richie felt himself dissociating from the situation once again, but Adrian pulled him back to reality. “So, ready to hit the booth?”

He was ready. He needed this song recorded as soon as possible. He had more important things to attend to.

_There are moments when I don’t know if it’s real_

_Or if anybody feels the way I feel_

_I need inspiration_

_Not just another negotiation_

***

Eddie stood at the store counter, tapping along with the seconds hand of the clock. As much as he hated working at this store, he knew he was going to miss it. He had to make sure to organize the clearance rack at least one more time before he left his last ever shift.

There was a _ding_ , and Eddie watched the door swing open out of his periphery, sighing. He would _not_ miss the assholes who decided to show up five minutes before closing. The words left his mouth on instinct, “Welcome to…”

But as he turned, he saw a familiar face and froze. Memories of the previous night flashed in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the words were burned on the insides of his eyelids. _Bill Denbrough was right._

“Hey Eddie.”

Eddie forced a smile in response. For the first time, he had no words.

Richie’s hands were shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly. His large frame seemed to curl in on itself. Eddie let his smile drop. Richie was such a big personality, it looked _wrong_ for him to be, almost, hiding within himself.

“Are you coming to the concert tomorrow?” Richie asked awkwardly.

Eddie gave a slight nod. “Can’t disappoint Bev.”

Richie visibly shifted from one foot to the other. “Right… yes, very important.”

A blanket of silence fell over the two of them. Eddie looked to his feet, feeling Richie’s gaze upon him. It hurt too much to make eye contact. Looking at Richie felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Everything reminded Eddie of Richie’s harsh words the night before. God, he felt like such an idiot. Why would someone like Richie want him? A sorry excuse of a writer who was too scared to write.

Eddie had his walls up for a reason, but some asshole in tight pants and flashy shirts had to come in swinging with a sledgehammer. He cursed himself for thinking things would ever change for him. He had spent the majority of his life feeling alone, and he was fine! But now that he’d gotten a taste of what it felt like to care about someone and to be cared about, he didn’t know how he could go without it.

When Eddie didn’t say anything, Richie continued. “I just wanted to say… I thought your last verse was amazing.”

“Thank you, Richie,” Eddie forced, still unable to meet Richie’s eyes.

“And… I’m so fucking sorry about what I said.”

Eddie cringed, gnawing at the soft flesh on the inside of his cheek. “Well, you know, life isn’t a fairy tale, and I have to grow up…” Eddie hesitated and looked up. He supposed that Richie would find out eventually, one way or another. “And I’m going to do that in Florida.”

Richie’s eyes were impossibly wide behind his thick lenses. “That’s… that’s insane! No one grows up in Florida… Unless they’re an orange.”

The forced joke fell flat. Neither of them budged even a smirk.

“Well, Bev’s store is expanding. I’ll be managing the new branch in Boca Raton.”

Eddie’s eyes were drawn to a slight movement by Richie’s side, as if he was going to reach out to Eddie, but his arm dropped from its slight raise. “You should be writing, not fighting cellulite.”

Eddie pursed his lips. “Well, I can do both,” he said firmly. “We need a new marketing campaign.”

Richie pushed his glasses to his head and scrubbed his palms over his eyes. He looked at Eddie, and God, his eyes were still stunning without the magnifying effect of his glasses. Eddie hated that even after all the shit that Richie said, he was still drawn to the other man.

“Thing is… I can’t… compose without you,” Richie said. He winced, like it pained him to say.

Eddie shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

In all honesty, Eddie wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to write again. Sure, a few slogans for Bev’s company, but he didn’t think his heart could bear r _eally_ writing again. It seemed like every time he put a pen to paper, it was accompanied by pain.

“Alright…” Richie started. “Well, I don’t want to take up anymore of your time. Good luck, Eds.”

Eddie bit his tongue at the nickname. “You too.”

***

The screaming fans were going to blow Eddie’s eardrums. He had never been to a concert before, and sure, he’s been _told_ that they were loud, but he didn’t expect to _actually_ go deaf.

But he was here for Bev, who had been looking forward to the show since he told her about the free tickets. And for Ben, he couldn’t leave Ben alone with Bev at a concert like this.

He wasn’t here for Richie. That’s what he told himself, at least.

Eddie squirmed in his plastic seat as the final notes of “Buddha’s Delight” faded. The array of colorful lights shifted until the stage was lit by a simple white light. He could tell the end of the concert was approaching.

Adrian strutted to the edge of the stage. “New York, I love you!”

The crowd roared, but the sound of his own heartbeat was deafening. It pounded in him, thuds louder than any base line.

“And now I’d like you to hear something very special. Something very different. It’s a new song.”

He felt Bev’s grip on his arm tighten. “This is it, Eddie, your song,” she whisper yelled.

Eddie cringed, thinking about how Adrian hacked apart what he thought was the perfect song. “I don’t think I can listen to this,” he sighed.

“A song no one has heard before, written by Mr. Richie Tozier!”

Wait.

They weren’t even going to credit for him for the lyrics? Eddie laughed humorlessly. Well that’s show business, he supposed, trying to not let it hurt him too much. Maybe this was for the best, he wouldn’t want his name associated with what that song had become.

“What the fuck!” Bev exclaimed. “Richie Tozier _and_ Eddie Kaspbrak!”

“How quickly they forget,” he said, trying his best not to sound bitter. He wasn’t.

Bev tugged on his arm. “Let’s just go and come back when the song is over. You and me.”

Eddie shook his head, forcing himself to be steady, hiding his trembles. “Actually, I’m just gonna go.”

“Want us to come with you?” Ben questioned.

“No… no. I’m fine. Just…” He needed to get out of there. It was all too much. He felt like he was suffocating amongst the crowd. This song was his baby. Eddie had thought he would never write again, but this song… It meant too much to him to watch it be destroyed. And he knew that he wouldn’t be able to watch Richie on that stage.

“Are you sure?” Bev asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just want to be alone. You and Ben enjoy the rest of the show.

Not waiting for her response, Eddie shoved past grumbling fans, refusing to turn towards the stage. As soon as he reached the aisle, he set his eyes on the exit and marched towards it. If he hurried, he could make it out the door before the song even started.

The sound of piano echoed throughout the stadium. To Eddie’s surprise, he didn’t recognize the chords. Had they changed the song even more? His heart clenched.

But then he heard a familiar voice singing unfamiliar words, and he couldn’t stop himself from whipping around to face the stage.

_It’s never been easy for me_

_To find the words to go along with a melody_

Eddie inhaled deeply, frozen in the aisle. Richie was at a grand piano centered on the stage, eyes shut as he sang.

_But this time there’s actually something on my mind_

_So please forgive these few brief awkward lines_

_Since I met you, my whole life has changed_

_It’s not just my furniture you’ve rearranged_

This was a song. Not the song they wrote for Adrian. A song that Richie wrote, by himself. A song that Richie wrote about him, _for him_.

_For years I’ve been telling myself the same old story_

_That I’m happy to live off my so-called former glories_

_But you’ve given me a reason, to take another chance_

_Now I need you, despite the fact_

_That you’ve killed all my plants_

Eddie choked on a sob, unable to hold back a giggle. God, that charming asshole.

_And though I know, I’ve already blown more chances_

_Than anyone should ever get_

_All I’m asking you, is don’t write me off just yet_

As soon as the song ended, Eddie darted towards stage left, trying to find some sort of way to get back there. “Richie!”

A security guard immediately shoved him back. “Nobody backstage.”

Eddie wanted to scream. He _needed_ to get back there. “I have to get up there!” he shouted. “I know Adrian.”

The guard snorted. “Sure, and I know Beyonce. I don’t care about what you have to do.”

“I know Adrian,” he pushed. “I wrote him a song.”

“And so has thousands of other fans, so back up, before I call back up.”

“Eddie?” a puzzled voice called out.

Adrian’s DJ, Eddie wracked his brain for his name, Don or something, was standing behind the guard. “He’s okay.”

The security guard immediately whipped around, glaring daggers at Don. “There’s nobody backstage,” he insisted.

“I said he’s okay, alright?”

The guard huffed in frustration. “Well, you vouch for him, then.”

As soon as he stepped aside, Eddie was running, shooting Don a quick, “Thank you!”

He saw Richie scrambling down the side stage stairs, ignoring the yells of some tech person. “What’s wrong with you? As soon as Adrian’s done “Slam,” you need to be on stage. I'm serious Rich.”

“Okay got it, thanks.”

Eddie paused and stared. Now that Richie was right in front of him, he had no idea what to say. For the second time, Eddie had no words.

Richie turned towards Eddie with a bashful smile, heaving slightly. “Hey Eds.”

“Richie,” Eddie started, fighting back tears. “That song.”

Richie chuckled softly. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It’s the best my sorry ass could come up with. You could fix it… if you want.”

Eddie shook his head, laughing as he felt the tears spill over and stream down his cheeks. “No. That song was dinner.”

Eddie launched himself at Richie, lacing his arms tightly around his waist. They held each other, relishing in the silence, until the sound of a piano track came pouring out of the speakers. This time the chords that played were the ones that were etched into his heart.

Eddie gasped, taking a slight step backwards, “What happened to steamy and sticky?”

Richie grinned widely. “I explained to Adrian that it violated the very core of the lyric and corrupted the purity of the song… And when that didn’t work, I told him it would help me win you back.”

Richie slid his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling their bodies almost flush against each other. “And that did it. Turns out that although he thought the Dalai Lama was actually a llama…,” Eddie tilted his head back and barked out a loud laugh as Richie continued. “…He is actually quite the romantic.”

“Thanks asshole,” Eddie crowed, fondly. He shoved Richie off of him. “Now get up there.”

Richie pulled Eddie in for a searing kiss, making his knees go weak, before walking backwards towards the stage, not breaking eye contact until the last moment.

Eventually, Eddie heard the sweet sound of Richie’s voice, singing the lyrics that they wrote together. He watched him on the stage with a loving smile. He was singing with Adrian, but Eddie pictured the two of them in Richie’s small apartment studio, recording the song together.

Eddie thought about all the ways that Richie got him out of his comfort zone; all the ways the Richie made him better. He thought about the two of them huddled around the piano, arguing over anything and everything, regardless if it was related to the song or not. He hoped that that wouldn’t be their last time together in that studio.

Bev had said extraordinary.

Yeah, he thought to himself, Richie was extraordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so so sorry that this took so long! i just took the mcat and then i moved into my apartment at uni and i just didn't have the motivation to write for so long. i hope everyone catches the nods to other chapters!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! this is the first chaptered fic that i've finished and though there are rocky bits, i'm happy with how it turned out. i have a lot of ideas for other multi-chaptered fics and one shots and am excited to write more
> 
> i appreciate any and all feedback, comments, kudos
> 
> tumblr @lightfiltersin


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